Violet
by Blackbyrd
Summary: In which Stiles walks into the dark to find the light, when he had it all along. All it took was a little cruelty, and a little kindness. (One-Shot, Fluff)


Violet is his least favorite color. It's the hue of cruel laughter, the mark left by rejection and repulsion, the color of the panties he wore to school once in 2nd grade because he couldn't find clean undies, the color of the sharpie that scrawled "lady stilinski" on his backpack at recess the same day. As Stiles trips onto the McCalls' porch, all he can see is violet, and the occasional flash of Lydia's red lipstick as she holds him up.

"Stiles, stay with me," she's saying. Every other word ricochets through his brain. He barely registers the door opening, his consciousness brightening only when he hears Scott's voice. A hand grasps his shoulder.

"Stiles, you wanna lie down?" Scott's face looms in his vision; just like that, violet becomes red, like Scott's extra pair of "big boy" boxers he lent him that day in 2nd grade, like the crayon drawing of him in his closet, like the eyes of an Alpha.

Scott's leading him to the couch. He hadn't even realized he was inside. "Here, just get comfortable. I'll get you something to…" Scott eyes Lydia. "Drink? Eat? What happened?"

"He was at Jungle. Someone slipped something in his drink." Lydia helps Stiles take off his shoes.

"What were you doing at Jungle, Stiles?" Scott asks, his voice soft, absent of all judgment.

Stiles shakes his head. Already the memories strike him; violet laughter and pulsing lights, everyone is dancing and sweating, but his skin is chill. Ethan cringing in second-hand embarrassment. Someone slapping his ass.

"You think it was roofies?" Scott whispers to Lydia. She shrugs. "I'll get some water."

"Make coffee. Caffeine should flush it out of his system." She presses down on Stiles's shoulders until he's sprawled across the couch. Stiles hears Scott moving around the kitchen. He doesn't want them to ask again, but by the look in Lydia's eyes, she knows half the story already. She's at his ear, and her voice is just a whisper.

"Ethan told me what happened."

Stiles groans and clenches his eyes shut. "It wasn't his fault." His voice is still a slur, thick with fatigue and chemicals.

"What were you doing? You know Ethan and Danny are… whatever they are."

"I don't know what I was doing. I was drinking."

Lydia sighs. "Stiles, I thought you liked girls."

"I do like girls."

"But you hit on Ethan."

"It was kind of a joke." Stiles turns his face away. Lydia asks no more questions, but already he's remembering the violet. He's remembering humiliation.

* * *

The strobe lights prickled his eyes; Jungle was in full fledge tonight, shirtless boys littered the floor as they twirled their bodies against each other. Stiles stumbled over the doorstep; two seconds here and he'd already almost made a fool of himself. He nodded his head to the music as he made his through the crowd, his eyes peeking about for a lone partygoer. Everyone seemed to be hooked up with someone. Not a single guy was dancing alone. And as Stiles became increasingly aware of his awkward solo dancing, he got closer and closer to the bar.

Whoever invented liquor must have seen some shit. Every time Stiles downed a glass, the shots seemed to whisper to him, "you can dance, Stiles, you're a great dancer", and he found himself jerking his body about. He moved in-between couples, pulling out every move he knew. Then he'd get tired and order another shot.

"Stiles? What're you doing here?" Stiles froze, one hand on a glass of alcohol and the other covering his face. If a teacher was here, he was so screwed.

"Stiles." A tall form leaned against the counter beside him. It was Ethan. "You okay?"

"Oh. Oh it's you." Stiles shrugged. "I'm cool, I'm cooler than cool man. Are you okay? Is anybody okay?"

"Have you been drinking?" Ethan smirked. Stiles didn't pick up on the jibe.

"I might've had a little." He drained his glass, grinning as the fire went down his throat. The liquor's whisper became a chorus. "You're the smoothest guy, Stiles, you're super smooth." Stile nodded, muttering, "hell yeah I am."

"What?" Ethan asked.

"So what're you doing here?" Stiles asked. "I mean, besides the fact that you're gay. Because it's a gay club." Stiles giggled, and the liquor complimented him on his grade-A humor.

"You're funnier when you're sober," Ethan said dryly. "I'm with a couple friends. Are you with somebody?"

Stiles froze. This was it. He could do this. He passed a sly glance at Ethan and winked. "Nah, are you with somebody?" Ethan's half-smile became a frown. "What a coincidence. I'm not with somebody. You're not with somebody." Stiles did the math on his hands. "Why don't we go out there and get bodie'd." He wanted to laugh again; the liquor gave him another five stars.

"You're definitely funnier when sober," Ethan muttered. "Maybe I should call Scott, or Lydia." He'd already pulled out his cell phone when Stiles grabbed his arm.

"Aw let loose, come on."

"You can't drive like this and you shouldn't be here." Ethan was dialing when Stiles launched at him, wrapping his arms around his waist and burying his face in Ethan's chest. "Yo, what the fuck." Ethan shoved Stiles to the floor. Heads turned as Stiles tumbled, and a guy behind Ethan laughed.

"Check out this butterface, can't hold his juice," the guy said. Laughter poured out from the small crowd by the bar. Stiles whirled to his feet, his eyes wide and his lips quivering. All he saw were the laughing faces, and Ethan shouting something to him. He went back to the bar and took another swig of his drink, trying to act cool, but the guy next to him snickered darkly as he tucked something into his pocket. The drink left a powdery taste on his tongue, and the sounds of the club dimmed until all he could hear was his heartbeat.

"Come on." Ethan was leading him away from the bar. Stiles tripped and stumbled all the way to the door, where Lydia was fuming. She gasped when she saw Stiles.

"Ethan, what's wrong with him?"

"He had a couple drinks."

"He looks sick. Come here, Stiles." Lydia took his arm and led him to the door. Ethan followed when one of his friends ran up to him.

"Ay Ethan, creeper at the bar put something in your buddy's drink."

"What?" Lydia and Ethan said at the same time.

"Who? Show me who?" Ethan's eyes glinted blue; only the strobe lights hid then. He looked to Lydia. "Get him out of here. I'll take care of this." He went off to the bar. Stiles watched him go, hardly here and hardly there, until some guys recognized him and started pointing with laughter.

"Stiles, let's get you out of here." And like a ghost, Lydia pulled him away from a world of violet.

* * *

Stiles blinks away his dreams, feeling sleep at the corner of his eyes and a bitter taste on his tongue. He sees the shadows of a bough on white plaster; he knows this ceiling. It's Scott's ceiling; Scott equals safe. He hears soft piano playing, and he rolls over in the bed. Scott sits at the computer with his back to him.

"Hey," Stiles murmurs. Scott twists around; all the worry is still in his eyes.

"Are you okay?" Scott searches him as he asks.

"Slight headache. Is that Prokofiev?"

"That's… what?"

Stiles aims a finger at the computer, where a crescendo resounds. "The music. Sounds like Prokofiev."

"I don't know. I just searched for piano music to help you sleep." Scott glides across the floor in his chair. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No thanks. Never. Forget it." Stiles mashes his hands into his face, as if to scrub out the memories. "What time is it?"

"Almost 3 in the morning."

Stiles groans. "My dad's gonna kill me."

"Already called him. Told him you were sleeping over."

Stiles peeks out at Scott through his fingers. The other boy is grinning. "Thanks, Scott." He covers his face again and yawns. The piano is soothing, familiar. Finally, he cracks. "I wanted to see what guys were like."

"Huh?"

"I know Lydia already told you what happened. That's why I went. I wanted to figure this out."

"Figure what out?"

"This… this liking girls, but also liking not-girls."

"You mean liking boys?" Stiles just nods. He feels Scott's hands over his, and he slowly pries his fingers away from his face. "And there is nothing wrong with that. Stiles, you are one of the most amazing people I know. Imagine how happy many girls and guys will be to know they even have a chance with you."

Stiles gazes up at Scott. "You mean that?"

"Of course I do. The only one who doesn't see how great you are is you." Scott pushes Stiles's hair back. "Did you have fun dancing?"

"No."

"Well come on." Scott tugs him out of the bed. Stiles groans again, but he can't hide the smile on his face as Scott leads him to the only spot on the floor not covered in clothes. Scott makes his worst duck-face and jerks back and forth.

"What are you doing?" Stiles asks.

"Getting my groove on."

"You can't dance like that to Prokofiev." Stiles is laughing now. "You can't dance like that to anything really. It's awful."

"According to Ethan, you invented it." Scott shoots a teasing grin at him and stopped. He holds out one hand.

"What?" Stiles glanced at the hand with raised eyebrows.

"Show me how you're supposed to dance to Profokiev."

"It's Prokofiev." But Stiles takes his hand and guides it to his waist. Scott wraps both hands around his back, pulling him close, then he lifts Stiles's arms to his neck.

"Better?" Scott asks with that grin.

Stiles shrugs. "I guess." He refuses to look at Scott; his eyes drift down to their bare feet slipping over the wood floor in a circle.

"Look at me, Stiles." Scott's voice is like silk. So much about him had changed since he'd become an alpha. Taller, stronger, his presence commands attention. Stiles looks up at him. There is only understanding in his eyes. That hasn't changed.

"So now you know what it feels like to dance with a guy," Scott says. "You can check that off your list."

Stiles smiles and glances over Scott's shoulder, his mind wandering with the music. "It's kind of a long list." Then he feels a kiss, swift and warm, on his cheek, close enough to his mouth that his lips pucker and his eyelids flutter shut. He looks at Scott, who's grinning at him.

"Your list just got a bit shorter."

* * *

_* Originally posted on AoO, posted here with explicit permission of the author, God_of_Ghosts._


End file.
